Not Your Typical Love Story
by Midnight-Blue Ivy
Summary: Fact: Dean hates chick-flicks. Fact: he doesn't actually mind writing about them - much (is being compared to Nicholas Sparks good or bad?). Fact: the general events of the books are based on his long-time friendship with Castiel. Fact: he's caught in a lot of stupid conflicts in real life, such as: people not knowing he writes, and not communicating with Castiel about his feelings


Dean stared at the blinking cursor on the word document of his blaring laptop screen. It seemed to mock him, the way it carelessly blinked in and out of existence. Maybe if he stared at it long enough, it would write his book itself. Take his ideas out of his head and weave them in some ingenious ways so the story would lead itself to a conclusion that he planned out.

He sighed, rubbing his face with his hand tiredly. He lifted his mug with effort to see that there was no coffee left and sighed again. He stretched his arms, wincing at the popping sounds his shoulders made. He slowly unstuck himself off the chair, his hipbones and legs protesting at all the extra pressure. He glanced back at the monitor again, the document still exactly the same as he had left it.

He let out a frustrated groan and walked to the kitchen. It wasn't that he had written himself into a corner, or that he had a writer's block. He just needed to get away from his computer, and stop staring at a limited block of space for a while, just stop _thinking_ about this novel for a short time. He rinsed out the coffee stain from the mug and stared at the wall right above the sink, staying that way for a few minutes with his mind not particularly on anything. He blinked and sighed again, rushing back to reality.

He needed a distraction. He'd been writing non-stop for the past three hours, and his head felt short of a fuse. Or something. That was a weird expression. Was that even the right expression? It didn't even make any sense. What the hell did short of a fuse even mean—

More proof that he should just screw writing for tonight and go to sleep. Tomorrow was one of the days that he went to help out at Bobby's since he didn't want to be stuck in this hellhole called his apartment the whole day again tomorrow. Just like he was today. And yesterday. And the day before that.

Sounded like he really needed human interaction. And the sun. Wow, how long had it been since he'd seen the sun?

He sat back down in front of his computer and logged onto Skype. No harm from checking if anybody was online before bed, right? Not that anybody _would_ be online since normal people had normal sleeping patterns and wasn't up at—

Dean: dude, what the hell are you doing still up? [4:31AM]

Dean watched while nibbling on his bottom lip. Maybe he fell asleep by the computer with Skype on again? The little pencil on the bottom soon proved him wrong as it suddenly appeared, and vigorously scribbled out whatever the response was.

Castiel Shurley: I'm having some difficulties uploading my students' test marks onto the school website so I'm trying to figure out the problem. I should be the one to ask you that question, Dean. Isn't it past 4 o'clock there? [4:32AM]

Dean snorted at the response.

 _Dean: can't you do that tomorrow or something? I thought you had morning lectures on thursdays [4:32AM]_

 _Dean: and like, two lectures after that [4:32AM]_

 _Dean: you're gonna fall asleep while you're lecturing about your history crap and your students are gonna finally realize how boring the course they're taking is [4:33AM]_

Castiel Shurley: I'm capable of staying up until 2 in the morning and be able to function the following day. I shouldn't have to remind you that at least I was able to pull all nighters during college without collapsing the next day, unlike someone in this conversation who isn't me. [4:34AM]

Dean: oh shut up, you smug bastard [4:34PM]

Castiel Shurley: I want my students to know their quiz marks before the midterm so they can ask me or see me during office hours for any problems to be prepared. You still haven't answered my question. [4:35AM]

Dean bit his tongue lightly before typing out his response. The same routines, the same lies.

Dean: I fell asleep on the couch [4:36AM]

Dean: just woke up now and couldn't get back to sleep so I thought I'd check if anyone was up for a chat [4:36AM]

 _Dean: didn't actually expect anyone to be awake though [4:36AM]_

 ** _Castiel Shurley: Aren't you working tomorrow? [4:37AM]_**

 _Dean: yeah? [4:37AM]_

 ** _Castiel Shurley: Go back to sleep, Dean. [4:37AM]_**

 _Dean: I will, soon [4:37AM]_

 ** _Castiel Shurley: I don't want you to lose a finger because you're sleep deprived and weren't paying attention. [4:37AM]_**

 ** _Castiel Shurley: Again. [4:37AM]_**

 _Dean: I won't! [4:38AM]_

 ** _Castiel Shurley: Right. Because you did so well the last time. [4:38AM]_**

 _Dean: ONE TIME, CAS! ONE TIME! LET IT GO, JESUS [4:38AM]_

 ** _Castiel Shurley: Never :) [4:38AM]_**

 _Dean: that smiley just made that a lot more ominous than it should be [4:38AM]_

 ** _Castiel Shurley: Good. [4:39AM]_**

 ** _Castiel Shurley: Well, I've figured out what I was doing wrong so I'm heading to bed. [4:50AM]_**

 _Dean: alright [4:50AM]_

 _Dean: night, cas [4:50AM]_

 ** _Castiel Shurley: Good night, Dean. Go to bed soon. [4:50AM]_**

Dean rolled his eyes with a little smile still on his lips as he watched Cas's icon turn from a green to a grey, going offline. Dean scrolled back up and lazily reread their short conversation, his gloomy feelings already gone and replaced by a giddy little squeeze in his stomach.

He let out a little sigh, this time in contentment, and turned off his laptop.

* * *

"Have you talked to Cas recently?"

Dean didn't miss the teasing in Sam's voice. He was taking a break just outside of Bobby's garage as he enjoyed his lunch when Sam dropped a social call. "Yeah," he dragged. "I did, last night. What about it?"

"Did he say anything to you?" he asked casually. Too casually.

Dean frowned. "He told me he was putting marks up or something. Why?"

"Oh." Sam sounded a little disappointed. "Okay."

"Sam." Dean squeezed the phone a little. "What do you know that I don't know?"

"Nothing," Sam laughed. "Actually, that's a lie. I know a lot of things that you don't know."

"Spill it, Sasquatch," he said around a bite of his sandwich.

"You know gossiping counts as girly, right? It kinda goes against the whole overcompensating manly macho look you're going for."

"This ain't gossiping! This is—" Dean squinted at the direct sunlight hitting his face. "This is information collecting. And I'm not overcompensating."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, okay. That's why you help out at Bobby's when you can basically live off of your writing now."

"You _know_ why I need this job. "

"Whatever." Dean could imagine the Sam-eyeroll, a package deal with that tone. "How's that going by the way? Your current novel?"

Dean glanced at his surroundings. Bobby was in his office, and nobody else was within earshot. "Pretty good, I guess," he said. "And the movie's suppose to come out for Valentine's."

"Dean, that's great!" Sam said brightly. "The fact that it's coming out on Valentine's just shows how much of a real romcom writer you are—"

"Shut the hell up," Dean replied with no real menace. He shut his eyes, soaking up Sam's laughter in bliss as it carried through the phone.

"I'm serious, though," Sam said after sobering up a little. "Really. I'm proud of you."

Dean broke into a smile despite himself. "Thanks, Sam."

"So, uh. Cas still doesn't know?"

And there went the good feelings. "No," he hissed. "And he's never going to find out as long as _you_ keep your piehole shut."

"I'm just saying," Sam said slowly. "You can't keep him in the dark forever. I mean, you're a pretty popular novelist now, pseudo name or not, and Cas isn't exactly the dumbest guy in the room."

"I'm popular with _girls_. As long as he doesn't poke around, which he won't because I've never seen that guy pick up a romcom in his whole life, he'll never know. Even then, it's not like it's _that_ obvious." He felt the flush creeping on his face, but he ignored it. "There're just... snippets of stuff based on us."

"Yeah, snippets," Sam said dryly. "Only the romantic parts of the novels where your protagonist bonds with the love interest. No big deal, right?"

"Yeah, well," Dean mumbled. "Maybe they're not meant to _be_ romantic. Not my fault if people misinterpret it as romantic moments between a guy and a girl." He grinned. "Besides, you're doing friendship wrong if people haven't mistaken you and your best friend as a couple at least once in your life."

"Except you actually, you know. Like him."

Dean scowled. "Not that way."

"Riiiiiight." He sighed inwardly, not wanting to fight against Sam's unconvinced tone. Maybe one day he'll convince the kid. "Well, I've got to get to my next client. I'll talk to you tonight, maybe?"

"Sounds good."

"Jess says hi, by the way. Tell Cas and Bobby we said hi," Sam said quickly. "Bye, Dean!"

"Later, Sam."

Dean tapped his fingers idly on his phone as he pondered over whether he should text Cas or not. It was just a friendly text. Nothing else.

He scrubbed his face with his free hand in mild frustration directed at himself. For God's sake, he'd known Cas since he was a sophomore in high school. It wasn't like he was confessing his undying love for him or anything equally stupid Sam thought he should do. He didn't even like Cas that way. He never had, and never will.

He knew better that. Dean wasn't stupid.

Besides, he was just saying hi. And see if he was tired from last night. And maybe wanting to know how his day's been going. And maybe because he was a little curious on what he was upto now, even though it was probably more boring history researching crap or whatever it was professors at big shot universities did.

Only saying hi. Nothing wrong with that.

 **[12:05PM] Sam and Jess say hi.**

Dean stared at his sent words before shoving the phone into his pocket. Cas was probably in another lecture right now. It would be stupid of him to think that he would be able to respond right away.

Sometime later, Dean banged his head against the hood of the car when his phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket. "For fuck's sake, god damn it, _ow_ —" he hissed as he rubbed the back of his head. He glanced at the phone and his stomach did a cartwheel as he noticed the name of the sender.

 _[3:20PM] It seems a bit silly that Sam gives his regards to me through you when we live two blocks away from each other._

Yeah, lucky him. He quickly texted back, racing against time. Cas's next lecture started at three thirty if he remembered correctly (so one thirty where Cas was), and he didn't have much time left until then.

 **[3:22PM] It's cuz Sam's a weird freak. Also, your poor students who have to starve through your lecture during lunchtime.**

 _[3:25PM] They're allowed to bring food. Now stop distracting me so I can set up my laptop and start the lecture._

He thought of everything unpleasant to make the fluttering in his chest go away and wipe off the stupid grin he knew he had on his face before someone caught him. This was getting ridiculous.

He yawned and tears stung his eyes. He'd fallen asleep around five thirty last night (morning?) and forced himself awake at eight this morning. He really needed to remember that he wasn't in college anymore. Not that he felt much better back in college when he stayed up like last night, but it was taking a much bigger toll on him today. He closed his eyes and sighed, wishing he could fall asleep like this.

"If you ain't gonna work, then go back home and sleep. You look exhausted."

Dean's eyes fluttered open in surprise. "Not tired," he mumbled. "Just restin'. Don't get your panties in a twist."

Bobby rolled his eyes and handed him a cold bottle of water, which he gratefully accepted. He chugged half the bottle in one go. "You look like hell just bent you over and did you no good."

That startled a laugh out of him. "I'm fine, Bobby."

Bobby studied him dubiously and let out a sigh. "Idjit. You goin' back to Lawrence for Thanksgiving?"

Dean shrugged, thankful for the change of subject. "Uh, probably. You gonna join us this year? Mom says she misses you."

"I'll have to see. What 'bout Sam? You heard from him about it yet?"

"I haven't asked him what he's planning on doing, but yeah, probably? You know how it is with holidays in our family."

Bobby sighed again. "Yeah, I know. 'ts why I'm askin'. It's his first year at the job, so he might not even make it for Thanksgiving."

Dean cocked his eyebrows. "Is that what Sam said?"

"It's called figuring things out with common sense," said Bobby as he walked back into his office. "You might be in for another shitstorm, son."

* * *

"What do you mean you can't come?" Dean ground out, rubbing his temples.

"You know exactly what I mean, Dean," replied Sam's voice. "I can't take time off this year. I just got this position and I don't wanna screw things up. And I... might've told Jess' family that I was going to join them for Thanksgiving."

Dean sunk into his couch, willing himself to calm down. "Do mom and dad know about this?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

There was silence on the other end.

Dean sighed. "You gotta tell 'em eventually, Sam. They're gonna wanna know why you're going to be missing out on a family holiday."

"I know," Sam mumbled. "It's just, why can't I go over to my girlfriend's family's place for Thanksgiving like every other person without having some sort of a nuclear war freakout? It's not like it's the end of the world if I miss one Thanksgiving with the family, you know? I mean yeah, family's important, but I want my own damn life too."

"Sam," Dean closed his eyes. "You know how they are."

"I don't _care_ , Dean! Dad's been keeping us on a chain ever since we were kids, and I was never, _never_ allowed to make any choices for myself until I escaped to college. Well, I'm done with that kind of life."

"They just want what's best for us—"

Sam barked out a bitter laugh. "It's fucked up, is what it is. They just think we can't make decisions by ourselves because we're what? Still babies? Screw that, Dean!"

Dean suddenly felt exhausted. Today wasn't the best day ever, but it wasn't a bad day. Until this. "Okay."

"What?"

"I said, okay. Do what you want. I get it."

"Dean—"

He cut him off. "But you call them and tell them properly," he said. "I'm not going to be any part of this."

"Yeah, I know. I will."

Dean picked at the ends of his t-shirt. He wished he could sound that sure. "Okay," he choked out. "I'm gonna go."

"Dean, wait."

"What?"

"I'm sorry I can't be there for the shit you're gonna get from dad," Sam said apologetically. "Why don't you just tell him about the books? I'm sure he would be happy to hear that you have a job with a better income than working for Bobby. You know only really bigshot authors get movie deals. Maybe we're just making too big of a deal out of this."

"And I'm pretty sure you don't actually believe a word you're saying," Dean replied.

Sam sighed. "No, I don't."

"Bye, Sam."

Sam hesitated a little, before he hung up with a, "I'll talk to you later."

With a click, Dean's mind became blank. He curled into his couch and just breathed for a little bit, not knowing what to do with himself. His phone suddenly buzzed and Dean checked it with surprise.

 _[7:15PM] I just saw a lemon meringue pie on display at the grocery store._

He squeezed the phone in his hand a little, his eyes watery all of a sudden. If Dean didn't know any better, he would've said that Cas had some kinda super power that allowed him to detect whenever Dean was in a crappy mood.

Fuck Dean's life, right? He had to go and meet the absolutely perfect guy who he could never allow himself to love as more than friends.

 **[7:17PM] I hope you bought it.**

He held the phone against his forehead until it buzzed again.

 _[7:19PM] I didn't. I did buy ingredients for my lasagna recipe that you love so much, though. I'm going to have it for dinner tonight._

 **[7:20PM] Fuck you. Now I want lasagna.**

 _[7:25PM] You're always welcome to come here and join me if you wished._

He stared at those words. Dean had thought about it before, but never seriously. Moving to California to join Sam and Cas would be amazing. Sam had suggested it when he sold enough of his first two novels that he could've afforded a decent apartment close to where Sam and Cas lived.

It seemed impossible after imagining how that conversation would go with John and Mary.

 **[7:26PM] Ha, ha, hilarious.**

His improved mood crumbled again after being reminded just how far away Sam and Cast were from him. He wished he was back in high school, when Cas was reachable by a bike or by foot, and fell asleep on the couch.


End file.
